Editor's note: This article will soon be Chapter 4 in my next book, 2020: Living dangerously in a Time of COV$D. Lots of chapters yet to be typed up. I better stop slacking and get to it.
April 25, 2020: "We have a special deal for you," bragged Expedia. Good timing -- one day after my $1,200 government stimulus check had arrived. I'll take that deal! Fly down to Los Angeles, spend a night at the
legendary Biltmore Hotel and fly back home the next day. Boom. Only $300. But
then complications set in. Flight changes kept popping up in my
inbox until the only sensible thing to do was to spend another night at
the Biltmore.
Money to burn!
"Sunday night will cost you $60 more than
Saturday night," said Expedia. Huh? I balked. But COV$D-19 had made
me rich! Money's no object. Why not. Then my friend Samantha called.
"Remember when I asked you what you'd do if you won the lottery? And you replied that you would use that money to travel?" And
thus be able to benefit the most sentient beings, my ultimate goal in
life? Yeah, I remember. "Well, be careful what you wish for. Now you've got money to travel with on the one hand -- but on the other hand a
lot of people got sick and a lot of small businesses crashed."
Oh, and BTW, I think that I already had COV$D -- and recovered. Or
perhaps not. Last week I had some of the symptoms of a mild flu plus my
usual weird desire to hide under the bed for days with only a good
book. Does that count as COV$D?
The plane is taking off. Biltmore ghosts, here I come!
And the bus from LAX airport to Union Station downtown was cheap
and quick. Finding the metro station was easy. "Just take the purple
line and get off at Pershing Square." Okay. Now I'm here. But which
way is the Biltmore from Pershing Square? Ask a cop.
"I'm a big fan of The Rookie police show," I told three cops standing on the corner. "Might you direct me to the Biltmore?"
"See that large brick building that we are standing right in front of?"
Duh. Beautiful Georgian facade -- but the freaking front door was
closed, locked and chained. Oh crap. Am I going to have to sleep outside with
the other hobos on Pershing Square? At least the night was warm. Slowly and sadly I walked around the one-square-block-sized hotel. Locked down and locked out. But wait! There's a secret back entrance! I'm in!
Time to go to sleep.
So glad I came.
April 26, 2020:
Slept like a log. But, damn it, no ghosts appeared. At least no
famous ghosts. At one point in time, a female detective ghost just
stood at the foot of my bed and stared at me. She was perhaps 40 years
old, light-skinned, shoulder-length brown hair, wore a blazer, had a
detective's badge hanging from her neck and was no one I'd ever seen
before.
And my only dream involved a party in Eugene, Oregon, at a house so
very typical of the homes where hippies lived back in the 1960s. I kept
trying to make an herbalist brew me a perfect cup of tea. Frustrating.
Then I went and sat on the front room couch next to an old flame of
mine. I was tired -- and apparently pregnant. Weird dream.
What to do today? Perhaps an unofficial tour of the Biltmore? Perhaps
an unofficial tour of the nearby cathedral, Our Lady of the Angels? A
nice long walk in the heat?
Then on to the Grand Central Market, a gigantic funky food court.
Bought a cobb salad for $18. Pricey, right? Then I trudged up to
Olivera Street for the best taco in the world! And also a barbacoa beef
enchilada. Yummers.
But Olivera Street was mostly closed down. All the quaint little
souvenir shops were boarded up. On to the cathedral. Built like a bomb
shelter basically -- or like a castle-slash-bunker under siege. Have
no idea what the inside looked like because the heavy wrought iron gates
were bolted closed. On a Sunday morning. I crossed myself and moved
on.
Walked past the Mark Tabor Forum, the Chandler Pavilion, the Walt
Disney concert hall. A fashion model was doing a photo shoot in front
of the concert hall so I jumped right in. "Want a little old lady in
your shoot?" I don't pay my SAG-AFTRA dues for nothing. But apparently
they did not want me Their loss.
This trip has been awesome so far. Now it's time to chillax for a
while and then go read a book in the famous and impressive Biltmore
garden court. Took more photos. Absorbed more awesomeness. Looked for
more ghosts. Then back to my room to eat leftovers from the Grand
Central Market, watch The Rookie and eat a Kind bar for dessert. Dark chocolate. Simple pleasures while surrounded by old-Hollywood decadence.
So glad I came. And yet, damn it, almost any kind of change or effort
is always so scary for me. I'm always scared. Scared of airplanes,
scared of travel, scared of people, scared of writing, scared of
everything. It's a miracle that I get out of bed in the morning -- let
alone go off into war zones or take on the Dark Overlords of the world.
But still I do it. Stupid? Dumb? Or brave?
Oh shite. Now I'm afraid of having to wake up at 6:00 am and being out the door at 7:00 am. Being coherent that early in the morning
really scares me.
I can do this!
But I still hate to leave the Biltmore behind.
April 27, 2020:
Damn it, I had a really rough time getting to sleep last night. 1:00
am. 2:00 am. 3:00 am. Still wide awake. Used homeopathic and herbal
sleep remedies. Nothing worked. What's with that? I was desperate.
Finally at 4:00 am I went under -- only to be woken up two hours later
by reception. Crap. Plus I had really weird dreams.
Then the phone rang. 6:00 am? "I'm up! I'm up!" Honestly. Somehow I
managed to stagger off to the airport -- but only after spending a few
last lovely moments sitting in the glamorous Biltmore lobby and sipping
hot tea.
Chomping on Fritos at the airport kept me going long enough to make it home and
play free-cell solitaire long enough to decompress. I wonder where I can
go next. Got myself hooked on stately old hotels, especially haunted
ones. I wonder if they have any in Arkansas, the one American state
left that I have never been to. Las Vegas seems like a waste of time
because all the historic hotels there are closed -- but I do want to go
there for Mothers Day. Or perhaps go to Sacramento. It's got haunted
hotels. Or....
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